Gainesville’s water currently tastes like it has been lightly filtered through a damp basement and then left to think about it for a while. It also smells musty, which is impressive, because water is usually proud of not smelling like anything at all.
Officials describe this as an “earthy” taste and odor. This is technically accurate, if by “earthy” you mean “what you imagine it might taste like if you licked a shovel.”
We are assured — repeatedly and sincerely — that this is an aesthetic issue, not a health issue. The water is safe. It meets all drinking water standards. It will not hurt you. It just wants you to know it has a personality now.
This is apparently the result of something called “lake turnover,” which sounds like a baked good but is actually a scientific process involving Lake Lanier flipping its layers of water around due to changing air temperatures. The surface water and the deep water trade places, stirring up compounds that add flavor notes no one requested.
Scientists say they don’t fully understand why the taste and odor have been so intense and long-lasting this year. This is not comforting. When scientists use phrases like “don’t fully understand,” the rest of us start checking the expiration date on our Brita filters.
To be clear, officials have done their job. The water leaving the plant and arriving at every tap has been tested and meets all standards. They say this calmly, confidently, and often. The problem is that while my brain understands this, my nose remains skeptical.
As a result, I have made some lifestyle adjustments. I no longer drink tap water. I have switched to bottled water, which makes me feel slightly guilty and significantly more hydrated. I now carry bottles around like I’m preparing for a light hike through my living room.
However, my ice maker uses Gainesville water, which means every drink I pour is a little bit of both worlds. The first sip is refreshing, followed immediately by the faint sense that something has gone wrong in the woods.
I still wash my dishes in it, because I trust the science, and because replacing every glass I own would be expensive. I wash my body in it, too, which is a humbling experience. Nothing makes you question your place in the universe quite like stepping out of the shower and wondering if you now smell like a fallen log.
Friends reassure me. “You’re fine,” they say. “It’s just lake turnover.” They say this the way people say “It’s just allergies” or “It’s just a phase,” as though the water will soon come back around and apologize.
The good news is that this should subside as temperatures stay cooler. Lake Lanier will eventually calm down, put its layers back where they belong, and stop sharing its deepest thoughts with our faucets.
Until then, we adapt. We add lemon to our water, which helps, or at least makes us feel proactive. We buy ice. We remind ourselves that this is temporary, and that worse things have happened than slightly funky water that is completely safe to drink.
If nothing else, this experience has brought the community together. We are united in sniffing our glasses suspiciously, in exchanging tips, and in learning more about lake science than we ever planned to know.
One day soon, the water will be clear, neutral, and boring again. And when that happens, we’ll barely notice — because that’s the highest compliment you can give to tap water.
My View From the cheap seats 